Page 27 of Pack Rivals, Part One

"That's very kind of you. But I don't need any protection."

"Yes, you do."

I huff. "No, I don't."

"Omega." I yelp-moan. I thought the baby girl was bad enough. But omega? The name has my spine straightening, my ears alert, waiting for his command, order, who knows what. There's none of that though. Instead he whispers, "From what I understand, this situation is all new to you."

"It is," I confirm, feeling the weight of that deep in my gut. Navigating this world is going to be harder than I thought. It's all topsy-turvy, upside down, and back to front.

"You had no idea you were an omega until last night?"

"No, I didn't. The doctor says exposure to alphas last night, triggered my presentation in a way that had never happened to me before." Although, in all honesty, I don't think I was triggered last night. I'd already felt strange before then, light headed and a little hot, as if I'd been coming down with a cold. What sparked it wasn't the black-tie event. It was my encounter with the man with gray eyes out there at the gas station. I'm pretty sure of that.

"Then you're unfamiliar with how our world works." I like his tone. It's soothing in my ear. He could have been patronizing and a bit of an asshole. Instead, he sounds kind. "Omegas need to be protected."

"From what? From whom?"

The alpha coughs as if he's a tad embarrassed to answer my question. "Alphas who would do you harm."

I frown. Funny how Aunt Julia didn't mention this bit. Is this alpha talking bullshit? "How will they harm me?"

"Omegas are in demand." Yeah, as sex slaves. "There are alphas who will snatch an omega and make them theirs against their will." He hesitates. "There are also alphas that will kidnap omegas and sell or breed them on the black market."

I sit on the bed. "So tell me, Mr. Boston, how exactly am I meant to tell the good alphas from the bad?"

I hear him open his mouth as if he's going to speak, but there's only silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, he says, "You'd be safe with me and my pack."

"Problem is Mr. Boston, isn't that exactly what a bad guy would say too?"

"Yes," he answers.

"Then how do I know which one is telling the truth?"

"Your instincts."

"Huh." My instincts are about as reliable as a rat in a larder of cheese. Didn't my instincts tell me Karl was the one? Didn't they fail to spot the truth? Yep, I'm screwed if instincts are all I have to rely on.

"Mr. Boston, as I don't know you from Adam, I'd like you to remove the men from my door. For all I know you are a bad guy, stopping good guys from finding me."

His tone is petulant when he answers. "If I was a bad guy, I wouldn't have told you about bad guys."

"Double bluff."

He snorts and I can't help giggling.

"I brought you home safe and sound last night, didn't I?"

"You did."

"You can trust me. I just … I just want to keep you safe."

My stomach somersaults. Is that another omega thing? Because wanting to keep me safe sounds tantalizingly good, especially if it involves wrapping me in his arms and …

I shake my head. Shit, these omega instincts are mind fuckers.

"But," he adds, "if the guards are making you feel uncomfortable I'll have them removed."

"Thank you."

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